


Midwinter

by SylvanFreckles



Series: Twelve Days of Fictmas 2020 [9]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brotherhood, Family, Friendship, Gen, LOTR headcanons, Midwinter, No Slash, over the mountain and through the wood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:22:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28230843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvanFreckles/pseuds/SylvanFreckles
Summary: Aragorn arrives at Thranduil's palace to celebrate the mindwinter feast with Legolas.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel & Legolas Greenleaf
Series: Twelve Days of Fictmas 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055069
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Midwinter

**Author's Note:**

> I have an upcoming series called "Over the Mountain and Through the Wood" that's basically a fantasy adventure series of Legolas and Aragorn's adventures in Middle-Earth. It's less angsty than the Mellon Chronicles, and has a lot of headcanon I've developed. I'll list the ones from this story at the end.

“Aragorn! You made it!” Legolas held his arms out in a welcoming gesture as he swept into the room. “Old Bellyacher thought for sure the storm would keep you away. You earned me a new belt, my friend.”

The ranger let out a snort of laughter at his friend's antics. “Your brother was betting against me?” The thought of Belegdur, Legolas's stern older brother, doing something as trivial as betting whether a guest would arrive before a winter storm seemed uncharacteristic.

“Well, he doesn't know about your winter horse,” Legolas explained. He folded his arms and leaned against the wall, watching the attendant take Aragorn's wet and muddy boots and cloak away to be cleaned and dried. The ranger was now wearing a pair of stiff, soft-soled leather shoes like most of the inhabitants of Thranduil's keep. Not that boot were forbidden, but tramping around an underground fortress in wet footwear was distinctly uncomfortable.

“And you didn't tell him about Song,” Aragorn guessed. For most of the year he rode a bay gelding that had been a gift from his foster father, Eldrond of Rivendell. But in the winter, when the snows of the north washed up in drifts as high as a man's head, most of the rangers turned to the sturdy, powerful animals favored by the local farmers. Song of Thunder was a tall, broad-shouldered mare with the strong build of her sires, a thick mane and tail, and long forelocks that nearly brushed the ground. The war horses of the north were not as fast as the steeds of Rohan, but they were strong and dependable and much more suited for the perilous winter weather.

“Why would I give away my advantage?” his friend asked, pulling Aragorn into an embrace. “Besides, he hated that belt and I needed a gift for Bard next time I go to Dale. Now everyone's happy.”

Aragorn shook his head and looped his pack over one shoulder. “Even Belegdur.”

“He's happy in his way,” Legolas replied airily, leading the way through the halls to the chambers that were reserved for Aragorn's visits. The ranger looked around happily, admiring the palace of the Elvenking in winter. Bright-colored tapestries were hung on the walls to block the chill in the stone and fires were lit in every hearth. The wood-elves moved into the palace for the long, bitter winter, and thus the halls were filled with merry voices and laughter.

“I had hot water sent up,” the elf added as they reached Aragorn's room. “You can wash and change before we join my father and the others.”

“Thank you,” Aragorn's shoulders relaxed in relief when he entered the room. The fire was burning to warm the chamber, and the walls were blanketed in swirling designs of blue and silver, as a nod to the household of Elrond. “That one's new,” he remarked, nodding at one of the tapestries. It was of a silvery tree, with stars peering out through the gaps between its branches.

“Ah, yes. Tathariel's betrothed made that,” Legolas called, as Aragorn slipped behind the room's dressing screen. There was a basin of steaming water next to a small table, where towels and a shaving razor had been laid out.

“Tathariel?” Aragorn frowned to himself. He remembered the name, but not the elf in question.

“She works the northern watch patrol. I think you've met her.”

Aragorn nodded silently. He wiped off the dust and sweat of travel—the palace had indoor baths, but they were not in use at this time of day, so this would have to be enough—and quickly scraped away the stubble on his chin and cheeks. He would have to hope the clothes in his pack weren't too wrinkled...though he doubted there was anything to match the finery of court. Legolas had assured him that the midwinter celebrations were not a formal event, and he wanted to trust his friend...but an elf's definition of “not formal” might not be in line with that of a ranger's.

He stepped back around the screen, wiping the last of the water off his face. Legolas had been busy laying clothes out on the bed—trousers, shirt, and tunic. Not anything Aragorn had packed for the journey, and he approached the bed to stare down at the clothes worriedly.

There was no getting around it. He and Legolas just weren't the same size. While Aragorn was trim and fit for a human, he still had the broad-shouldered build of a man of Numenor, and Legolas had the willowy grace of an elf of Mirkwood.

“Don't look like that,” Legolas teased, flicking him on the arm with the backs of his fingers. “Father had these made for you, to keep in the palace here. He didn't want you to worry about something as trivial as clothes when you visit us.”

Aragorn sucked in a breath, glancing over at his friend. Legolas smiled fondly at him and nodded at the clothes before turning to Aragorn's pack to unload it. “Wear them well, Ranger. We do not dress all of our visitors so grandly.”

The clothes were made in the fashion of the men of Dale. A hip-length wool tunic over a loose linen shirt, both dyed in deep blue and gray. The breeches were black, and they were wool as well, which always felt a little...fragile...to Aragorn after the leathers he wore for the rangers.

“What's this?” Legolas's puzzled voice pulled Aragorn out of his thoughts. He turned around in time to see the elf pull a fabric-wrapped bundle out of the pack and lunged for it with a yelp.

“That's nothing!” Aragorn protested. Legolas held the bundle away, mischief lighting in his blue eyes.

“Nothing? It doesn't look liked nothing.”

“Give it back!”

“Doesn't feel like nothing,” Legolas hefted it in his hand a few times, easily dancing out of Aragorn's reach, then lifted it to his face for an exaggerated sniff. “Smells like leather, not nothing. I think you're lying, Ranger.”

“Legolas!” Aragorn lunged, managing to get one arm around the elf's waist. Legolas gave a shout and tossed the bundle to one side, and Aragorn managed to push the elf over before diving to catch the bundle up and hide it behind his back.

“Come now, Aragorn,” Legolas protested with a laugh. “Why so secretive?”

The heat was rising in Aragorn's cheeks and he looked down, refusing to meet his friend's merry eyes. “It's just nothing.”

“If it's nothing than you can let me see it, hmm?”

Aragorn backed away until his legs hit the bed. He was conscious of his half-dressed state—he hadn't quite managed to pull the linen shirt over his head before Legolas had found the bundle. He wouldn't be able to make a run out of the palace like this, shirtless and clad only in wool breeches and a pair of soft-soled elven shoes.

“All right,” Legolas raised his hands, laughing. “If it's so important to you, Aragorn.”

It was important. It was also embarrassing and so, so stupid. Why had he done it? It wasn't like gift-giving was a particular tradition among the elves...not for midwinter, anyway. That was a human thing, and as close as he and Legolas were the elf was still an elf.

“It's a gift,” he finally admitted, holding the bundle of fabric out. “The rangers have a tradition of exchanging gifts for midwinter. I brought...this is for you.”

Legolas's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but to Aragorn's relief he took the bundle without another word. Quietly, almost solemnly, the elf unrolled the plain fabric to reveal a pair of leather bracers. “These are for me?”

“I had them made. They're...” Aragorn's voice trailed off. He felt small, and ignorant, and far too young. Who was he to think an elf would appreciate a gift from a mortal?

But Legolas was studying the bracer's closely, holding them up so that the firelight caught the grooves of the tooled leather. “This is when we first met!” he exclaimed, a pleased smile lighting up his face.

Aragorn relaxed a little, half-sitting on the bed. The design had taken some time, many long nights spent with the rangers' armorer working out the pattern to apply to the bracers. At the cuff against the wrist were two figures, one with a sword and one with a bow, while at the elbow's end an avalanche tumbled down the side of a snow-covered mountain. Midway down the mountain the rolling snow became the heads of snarling wolves, all intent on charging the two figures at the far end of the bracer.

“Aragorn, these are wonderful!” Legolas exclaimed. “The craftsmanship is excellent—why were you so shy about this, my friend?”

He studied the floor for a moment. “It seemed...it's a ranger tradition, Legolas. I wasn't sure if it was appropriate.”

Legolas threw his head back with a laugh. He dug a hand into the pocket of his tunic and pulled something out, flipping it toward Aragorn. “I was planning on pinning this to your cloak before it was returned to you, then marveling over it the next time you put your cloak on.”

Aragorn caught the small, silvery object and cradled it in the palm of his hand. It was a cloak pin, in dark silver. It was shaped like a leaf, but the intricate design was of a sprawling tree with bare branches reaching toward the sky. Just at the top, an eagle was flying over the tree with a star clasped in its talons.

It wasn't _the_ tree, but it was close enough for those who knew. Aragorn felt himself swallowing back a tear, and looked up at his friend in gratitude.

“Did you think rangers were the only ones who gave gifts at midwinter?” Legolas teased. “Now, come. Dress yourself, Aragorn. Tonight we feast and sing and laugh at bleak midwinter!”

**Author's Note:**

> So. Wanna hear all about how Legolas and Aragorn fought an avalanche full of angry wolves?
> 
> Headcanon:  
> 1) Legolas has an older brother named Belegdur. He's a throwback to when I was first writing LOTR fanfic. The two brothers look a lot like their father, except Belegdur has green eyes like Thranduil and Legolas has blue eyes like their mother  
> 2) Aragorn and the other rangers ride draft horses in the winter. Think of the horses in Skyrim. Song of Thunder's name is based on the naming conventions my ex used to talk about for thoroughbreds, where part of one of the parents' names is including in the offspring's names  
> 3) the tapestries on the walls is based off my first apartment, where I couldn't afford to keep the heat up very high. I figured out that hanging blankets on the walls blocked a lot of the chill and kept things warmer.  
> 4) The Mirkwood elves have houses outside the palace, but in winter they all move into the palace to stay warm and share provisions. It's been a while since I read The Hobbit but I know the palace was described as the fortress of Thranduil's people  
> 5) Legolas's mother is not dead, she sailed into the west with Celebrian because they were friends, and she chose to offer her companionship until their husbands could join them again. Thranduil accepted this at first, but his anger built until he shut Mirkwood off from the rest of Middle-Earth. So the fact that he had some clothes made for Aragorn shows that he's trying to move forward.
> 
> Please leave a like or a comment! I had a shit day at work or I wouldn't ask, haha.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Next time: Sweater - "You traitor!"


End file.
